Chapter Text
Connor could not feel more lost.
Until a week ago, he was Connor Trevelyan, third son of an emerging house in Ostwick, an insignificant city in the Free Marches, aspiring to be a Templar.
Basically, a nobody. And he liked being a nobody.
Now, people were calling him the Herald of Andraste, as if he had been sent from the heavens by the Maker, and he was traveling to The Hinterlands in Ferelden to meet Mother Giselle, considered a heretic, and to appease the growing indignation of the Chantry, the institution he almost became a part of, now completely rejecting the Inquisition.
Oh yes. “The Inquisition.” The small army formed in the village of Haven, promising to fix the mess caused in the world by the Breach, a bizarre giant green hole in the sky that allowed spirits to pass into the mortal world, and of course, he was the only one capable of interacting with it.
Varric, the amusing dwarf smuggler, writer, and archer, had already started calling him “Shiny” because of the green power that glowed in his left hand every time they closed rifts between this world and the other.
It was really worth it to be the family’s representative at the Conclave that day...
Those words wouldn’t leave his mind.
When they finally reached the camp, Connor was introduced to Scout Harding. Certainly, a beautiful woman, and although her sweet voice and short stature could deceive an inattentive traveler, the huge bow she carried on her back left no doubt about her skill.
“Mother Giselle must be around here somewhere.”
Varric said, after what was probably a pathetic attempt at flirting with the charming scout.
-
The fight was relatively easy, and it broke Connor’s heart. Mad apostates, fanatic Templars, and, in the middle, so many houses on fire. Miserable refugees everywhere. Some wounded, many dead. All hungry, cold, and probably without shelter.
When it was over, each of his companions went to help someone, while the famous Mother Giselle came to talk to him. Everyone looked at him as if he were the only hope for Thedas, increasing the growing feeling of panic in his chest.
It seemed as if he was the one who had fallen from the sky.
-
When he found his colleagues a little later, they all had new information. The refugees needed food, blankets, and some of them, medicine.
He placed a map on a nearby table, inside one of the few houses still standing. “Okay, so here in the southeast we can find most of the supplies they need. How about we go there now?”
He marked all the points and areas they needed to visit, drawing a circle around to delineate the area. Then he looked up, seeking the others’ opinions.
“The path to Master Dennet is in the opposite direction.” Cassandra said simply.
“He can wait. These people need us now.” There was a new solemnity in Connor’s tone.
At least this he could do. Help people. He had done it all his life, and it was something he enjoyed.
The warrior noticed Varric smiling at him, but couldn’t figure out why.
“Moreover, it would be wise to establish the Inquisition’s presence in Ferelden before taking their horses.” Solas agreed with him, reassuring the warrior. There was something comforting about his presence, contrasting with what most people believed about mages. Or elves.
Cassandra nodded immediately, without hesitation. "Very well. Lead the way."
Connor tried to ignore the shiver running down his spine, present every time someone agreed to follow him without question.
-
At night, they were back at the Crossroads with the missing Inquisition agent, the healing potion for the sick elf, blankets, and meat. The new cult would now spread the news that there was an Inquisition helping people, and the group dined with the rest of the refugees after a very busy day.
“Another day cleaning up humans’ messes! They should be paying us by now. Right, Chuckles?” Varric turned to the elf beside him, raising his eyebrows along with his cup.
Solas smiled softly, enjoying the company at dinner, one of the rare times he hadn’t retired so early. “Your wisdom justifies your popularity, Master Tethras.”
“Aww! I knew we’d be friends sooner or later!” The dwarf pretended to be embarrassed, throwing a hand towards the mage, while turning his head to the opposite side with a half-smile, his voice as mocking as ever.
"Ugh." Cassandra rolled her eyes, clearly displeased with the conversation, and stood up, stepping away to check the defenses.
-
“Thank you, my boy.” Said a gentle woman when Connor gave her a bowl of stew.
She then sat in front of a tent, beside a man, who was bare-chested and wrapped in bandages. He touched her cheek affectionately as she helped him eat.
Connor watched with a melancholic smile, realizing that the couple was probably the same age as his parents would have been, were they alive.
Before he turned to walk back near the fire again, he heard the woman speaking.
“Don’t forget to stay under the blankets, it’s going to be a cold night.”
“Calm down, Greta. I’ve slept without a shirt before.”
“But you’re not a young man anymore! What will I do if you catch a cold too!!!?”
The Herald looked shyly at the two, not wanting to eavesdrop, but seeing the concern on the woman’s face, and the man snorting, but clearly trying to appear unconcerned.
"Sorry, you don’t have a shirt?" He asked before he could stop himself.
“Oh, I do, son, but now it’s a pile of rags soaked in blood. Damn demons.” The man said, bitterly, looking aside as he remembered how he narrowly escaped alive. His wife held his hand firmly, clearly happy that he had survived.
That was too much for Connor. It reminded him too much of his family, and how he missed them every day. He took off his coat instantly and handed it to the refugee. "Here."
The couple looked at him in astonishment, and the warrior spoke again before they could think of saying anything.
“No need to thank me. Just take care of yourselves, okay?”
The lady hugged him, with tears in her eyes. “You’re a blessed young man!”
He couldn’t help but smile at them, and returned to his tent feeling a little less lost than before.
* * *
On his second journey to the Hiterlands, Connor traveled with an entirely new team.
He had recruited Sera, from the infamous Red Jennies, and the headstrong Enchanter Vivienne from the Circle of Montsimmard, both from Orlais. Then he went to the Storm Coast to meet the Iron Bull, leader of the Chargers, a mercenary company.
All of them were extremely skilled—but also a challenge. Sera and Vivienne seemed ready to kill each other at any moment, and the qunari watched it all with amusement, his mischievous grin making it nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Still, helping refugees and fighting demons and bandits was just as easy as it had been with his original companions, and as long as Connor stayed focused on his mission, everything remained the same.
He could hardly believe he missed them. Varric and Cassandra bickering, along with Solas’ subtle remarks every time they passed through a ruin. The previous group had been much calmer, but he actually enjoyed the change of pace.
The original team had traveled with him for a month, and he had finally given them some time to rest in Haven. Not him, though. As long as he was the only one who could seal the rifts, he wouldn’t have a single day off.
“Hey, Vivi! That tree looks just like you! It’s very ugly! Hahahaha!!!”
Sera’s loud laugh reached Connor’s ears, interrupting his thoughts, followed by Vivienne’s uninterested sigh. The mage rolled her eyes before responding.
“I wonder what fuels your obsession with me, dear. You already know I have absolutely no interest in you. Your presence is as tedious as it is unpleasant.” The enchanter didn’t even look at the rogue, every word from her mouth sharp as knives.
The elf grimaced immediately and shouted back, furious, “Good! Because you look like a horse’s—!”
“Ass,” Vivienne finished the sentence before Sera could, finally meeting the elf’s eyes, causing her to pause in shock and then roar in pure rage.
The human’s face lowered slightly, her eyes full of disdain as she stared at the thief, as if teaching a child the same lesson for the tenth time. “See? Pure boredom.”
The archer just stuck out her tongue, always rebellious, and silence fell over the group.
Connor kept walking, eyes wide in shock after witnessing that. He turned to the Iron Bull for guidance. “Should we do something?” he whispered, hoping the other two wouldn’t hear, walking ahead.
The massive man wasn’t worried about being overheard, responding loudly. “Nah, they’re just talking. If it gets more intense, then we step in. But it won’t. Unfortunately.” The over-two-meter-tall qunari smiled beside him, clearly enjoying it all.
Following the road to Radcliffe, they heard the familiar sound of a rift opening and saw a guard fleeing.
“I want constant watch on this... thing!!!” the unknown woman shouted, tense, and that was enough for Connor to step forward.
Before he could blink, Bull was already running ahead of him.
“Fucking demons!!!”
He swung his massive axe back and forth like it weighed nothing, causing all the spirits to charge him at once.
The qunari didn’t feel a scratch, though, because Vivienne had already cast a barrier around him, and lightning bolts soon struck the spectral figures.
Connor was surprised at how quickly his companions reacted, moving in sync without any instructions, and he pointed his sword at a terror demon, shield raised—when suddenly the creature exploded from one of Sera’s arrows.
He then looked around, thinking how different it felt fighting beside these new people, when another demon appeared near him—and only as it advanced did he realize his hand was moving much slower than normal while raising his sword. He looked around and saw green energy radiating around him. Something was wrong.
“Herald, get out of that area! It’s enchanted!!!”
Vivienne warned, her barriers quickly forming around him, and he backed away as fast as he could, seeing all his movements in slow motion. Luckily, the demon was slowed too.
At the same time, Sera was in the middle of a golden ring, moving even faster than usual, arrows flying toward their targets like the wind.
Iron Bull was dashing from one corner to another, trying to catch the damned terror demon, which kept teleporting near the Enchanter, even as she dodged with magical precision.
Once time began flowing normally around him again, Connor took down as many spirits as he could, and the distinctive noise warned him more were being pulled from the Fade.
The mage dissipated half of them with bursts of energy, but the rest turned on her, threatening to strike—when suddenly several arrows hit them, and they vanished too.
After a moment scanning the battlefield, Vivienne slung her staff over her back and raised an eyebrow at the elf. “Hmph. Not bad for an insignificant thief.”
Sera was collecting her arrows, her face twisting more and more in disgust at the green slime coating the metal tips. When she heard the human, she threw her head back and groaned in frustration. “Ugh!!! I don’t want your ‘thank you.’ I just want the fucking demons to disappear.”
The Enchanter still stood like a general, hands on her hips as she watched the rogue from a small hill, chin raised. “On that, we agree.” Her voice came out a little less reproachful this time.
Connor closed the rift and then looked around at everyone, still puzzled by the areas where time had changed. He caught the qunari watching him with a mischievous grin, his eyes clearly noting the strange moment of mutual respect between the two women.
The Herald, however, didn’t seem to care about that right now. “...What just happened..?”
The Enchanter placed a hand on her chin, curious. “None of my reports mentioned time distortions near rifts. Fascinating.”
Connor sighed. Things were getting weirder by the minute. “There are several mages in Radcliffe. Maybe Fiona knows what’s going on.”
Disgust returned to Vivienne’s voice. “I doubt she’ll provide a proper explanation, my dear.”
Unfortunately, her words proved correct, when none of the mages seemed to even be aware of their arrival.
Connor felt uneasy as he walked through the village. Everything seemed far out of reach, too strange to understand. He wished Cassandra were there. Or maybe Solas. Even Varric would have something to say.
This wasn't the Redcliffe he had visited years ago to help rebuild after the Blight, one of the many favors his family had granted Ferelden. Even when the Blight still tormented the land, it hadn’t felt this grim.
The most disturbing thing was that Fiona didn’t seem to remember meeting him in Val Royeaux. She acted as if they had never met, which was troubling.
No one in his group had been with him when he spoke with the Chantry’s representatives in the Orlesian capital, so they had no way of noticing how different the Grand Enchanter was acting.
Everyone had warned him to be cautious around mages, of course, but they still advised the Herald to check out the message Alexius’ son had delivered.
If it was an ambush, they could fight and flee. Or die. That was always an option.
Nothing, however, prepared the Herald for what he would find inside the Chantry.
-
"Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, yes?"
There was a Rift in the sky, demons pouring into the building, and yet a Tevinter mage was fighting them alone as if he did it every day—looking immaculate, smiling at the Herald as he spoke.
When he approached Connor at the end of the battle, the warrior felt a chill. The stranger was so striking he almost seemed to glow.
"Fascinating! How does this work, exactly?"
He asked, and Connor immediately turned to Vivienne, hoping she would offer an explanation for the mark—like Solas used to.
When no answer came, the Tevinter laughed, realizing no one really understood the mystery.
“Haha, you don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! The rift closes.”
Only then did the Herald realize he didn’t even know who the beautiful man was, even though he spoke as if they were old colleagues. “Who are you?” he asked.
The mage finally noticed he had forgotten to introduce himself, though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Ah! I’m getting ahead of myself again, aren’t I?” Then he bowed—dramatic and exaggerated, almost as if he were thanking a crowd of cheering fans. “Dorian of House Pavus. Most recently from Minrathous. How do you do?”
“Careful.” Bull’s voice almost startled Connor. For a moment, he had nearly forgotten his companions, too focused on Dorian. “The pretty ones are always the worst.” He wasn’t wrong.
Vivienne followed up, her tone as disdainful as ever. “Let a Tevinter in and suddenly they’re crawling down the walls like cockroaches.”
Amazingly, the mysterious man didn’t show a hint of concern—not for the imposing enchanter or the massive qunari. “Easy now, I’m far more charming than a cockroach!” he joked.
And he really was. His honey-colored skin glowed in the low Chantry light, and his sharp jawline contrasted with the delicate elegance of his features, making him stand out anywhere. Even if he weren’t a Tevinter mage holding a gleaming staff and dressed in flamboyant clothing, Dorian Pavus would never go unnoticed. And he knew it. The way he carried himself—untouchable and unbothered, laughing at everything—was mesmerizing. And for a mage, he was surprisingly muscular. Without a doubt, an extraordinary sight.
When the stranger began explaining himself, Connor realized he had been distracted and blinked a few times to remember what they were discussing.
“Magister Alexius used to be my mentor, so my help should prove valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
But the Herald still didn’t understand why they were even talking. Not that he would complain about the interaction. That man could easily be the ruler of the world, and Connor would kneel to him in every possible way.
“I expected to find Felix here,” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and not reveal how affected he was by the alluring Tevinter.
That made the charming man glance toward the door, tilting his head slightly—allowing Connor to admire him from another angle. “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was supposed to deliver the note to you and then meet us here after shaking off his father.” Connor noticed his expression shift slightly when he mentioned that other man, and his already small hopes diminished even more.
Remembering he had a job to finish, the Herald forced himself to focus on the situation, hoping the Tevinter hadn’t noticed how he was practically drooling just looking at him.
He asked a few questions, but Dorian’s answers were hard to believe. Then again, everything that had happened in recent weeks was hard to believe. He could at least grant this man a small benefit of the doubt.
Vivienne was not so generous—especially when it came to Tevinters. “Manipulating time itself??” she scoffed. “Many have tried over the ages, but no one’s ever succeeded.” The enchanter shook her head firmly, lowering her face slightly, eyes narrowing in suspicion, the corners of her lips turning down in disdain.
She finally managed to make the Tevinter lose his composure. He furrowed his brow, his voice now as serious as the situation he described. “I know what I’m talking about. I helped create that magic.”
He gestured as he spoke, giving more details about the strange Alexius, who seemed just as interested in the southern mages as the Inquisition, though his motives were unclear. “What I don’t understand is why he’s doing all this. Tearing time apart—what for? To get a few hundred lackeys??” He threw his hands in the air, exasperated.
“He didn’t do it for them.”
The soft voice made the mage turn with a wide smile. “You’re late! Is he getting suspicious?”
“No.”
Felix continued speaking, but it was all too “magical” for someone like Connor to fully grasp. He struggled to pay attention.
He’d been raised in Ostwick, originally training to become a templar, then helping his sisters with the guard, logistics, and Blight refugees when things fell apart. No magic. No demons. No Tevinter.
His gaze drifted from Dorian to Felix, trying to understand if they were together. They were definitely close. Their eyes lingered on each other—affectionate, careful. But he couldn’t tell if it was love or just friendship.
Still, he couldn’t believe someone like Dorian Pavus could be single—unless he wanted to be.
After going on about the so-called "Venatori" and their obviously evil plans for Thedas, Connor was nearly ready to give up trying to understand any of it—if not for the remarkable man in front of him.
“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked quietly, trying to hide how lost he felt.
Dorian seemed to have everything figured out, speaking effortlessly. “You know you’re his target. Waiting for the trap is the first step to using it against him.”
Connor’s heart pounded in his chest. Handsome, strong, and smart. The man seemed flawless.
“I can’t stay in Redcliffe,” the mage continued. “Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way. But when you’re ready to deal with him—I want to be there.” Then, he began walking toward a side door, clearly enjoying the attention on him. “I’ll be in touch.” Finally, he turned to the other Tevinter, playfully again, though his voice held a trace of worry. “Oh! And Felix? Try not to die.”
Felix didn’t seem so amused. His entire expression, tone, and posture showed how serious the situation was. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”
When they finally left the Chantry, Connor barely noticed Vivienne and Sera oddly agreeing about the whole situation, or Bull reminding him about recruiting Warden Blackwall.
His head was spinning—for many reasons—but he was certain of one thing.
He needed to get back to Haven as soon as possible.
* * *
Back in the war table room, once again the advisors couldn’t come to an agreement. They kept defending their own points of view—two people on each side, arguing nonstop.
Finally, Connor spoke, sounding far more resolute than he actually felt. “I think we should seek out the Templars.”
“Certainly,” Cullen agreed immediately. Of course that was what he wanted to hear.
Leliana didn’t move a muscle—her years of training as a bard had earned her a completely unreadable expression, no matter the situation. But he knew she wasn’t pleased—she had been advocating for the mages the entire time. She had even married a mage. Connor could only imagine what the Hero of Ferelden had told Leliana about the horrors that occurred in the Circles—enough for the mages to rise up.
Josephine hesitated for a second, then began to set her plans to ally with the Templars into motion, always polite. “…I’ll reach out to the nobles.”
Finally, Connor looked to Cassandra. The passionate Seeker prioritized the Templar alliance, of course, but she also deeply cared about the plight of the mages. It was clear she was searching for a way to approach both groups—and was frustrated at not being able to find one.
Just like him.
But they couldn’t reflect, debate, and strategize forever.
He took a deep breath, his posture suddenly becoming solemn and commanding, and he heard his own voice come out firm and resolute—completely distant from his true self.
“We mustn’t leave the mages unchecked—certainly it’s not the ideal situation.”
In less than a second, all of the advisors stopped what they were doing, focusing solely on him.
“But it seems we don’t yet have the resources to dismantle such a well-organized force as these Venatori. I believe we could secure the Templars’ support, deal with the highest priority—the Breach—and then face the cult, much better prepared.”
“That… is an excellent point,” the Seeker nodded, surprised.
Connor paid attention only to Cassandra, knowing she was the heart and soul of the Inquisition, and he wanted to make sure she supported the major decisions made in that council.
Her small nod was enough for him to exhale, relieved that he had chosen correctly.
But he didn’t see that all the other members of that war council were now watching him with complete admiration and loyalty.
And he would never suspect that this moment would seal his fate forever.